


2+1 Cannot Make 3

by gwynndelous (Eristastic)



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4865798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eristastic/pseuds/gwynndelous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What with how Sousuke takes care of Hayato and the apartment, he and Kisumi are practically married anyway.<br/>But 'practically' isn't 'actually'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2+1 Cannot Make 3

**Author's Note:**

> Trifecta has ruined me completely and now all I crave is 'single father/guardian'/'gruff type with a debatable heart of gold'.  
> And of course the Sousuke/Kisumi take on the theme hit me and I couldn't very well NOT write it.

Hayato furrowed his brow and chewed on the end of his pencil for the third time in the last minute. Or at least, it felt like that to Sousuke. Patiently, he sat across from the boy and waited for the inevitable question.

“But…we found x was 5 in the last one and it doesn’t work here…” Hayato looked about to cry over his maths homework and Sousuke quickly moved the paper out of harm’s reach.

“Hey, don’t worry about it!” he attempted to sound cheerful but even he had to admit it sounded a bit strained. Comforting wasn’t necessarily his strong suit, but he tried. “Do you remember what I said about question 3?”

Hayato looked up at him, eyes wide and shining with impending tears, biting his lip as he shook his head. As a last effort, Sousuke ruffled his hair and smiled as warmly as he could.

“X is just a stand-in, remember? It’s not a real thing.” Hayato still looked confused and on the verge of tears so Sousuke tried again. “Just think of it like this: x is a…a curtain that’s over what the _real_ number is. It doesn’t mean anything on its own, so you just have to add or subtract things from both sides to find what number it’s hiding. Because, remember here?” he pointed to the last question they’d struggled through. “X was in front of the 5 but by taking away 12 on both sides, we worked out what it was.”

There were a few long seconds of Hayato looking down at the paper and then, with the smallest of movements, he nodded and the wobble left his lips. “…A-alright…”

A _ding_ came from the kitchen. “You think you can try the next few questions on your own? I’ll be right back,” Sousuke ruffled Hayato’s hair again and went to check on the curry sauce he’d left cooking, frowning at the darkening clouds outside as he did. If they got any worse he’d have to take the laundry in, but he wasn’t quite ready to force himself to do that just yet.

He’d probably never get used to Kisumi’s kitchen (or cooking in general, for that matter, hence why it was just curry he’d had to follow a recipe step by step for) but after a few drawers he finally remembered where the spices were and added the necessary ones into the roux, gave it a few stirs, and put the rice cooker on before going back to the table where Hayato really was panicking now.

“What’s up?” he asked in his gentlest voice, the one he only used when Hayato had worked himself into a state.

“I…I don’t know what this means…” Hayato pointed to a new question and Sousuke internally cursed the teacher for shoving multiplication onto children who were clearly having enough trouble with algebra’s very existence. With the infinite patience he only really had for Hayato, he sat down again and started to explain as best he could.

It took a few stops and starts but the poor thing did get there in the end. He wasn’t unintelligent by any means, he just tended to lose focus at the first obstacle he ran into and then it all spiralled down from there, especially in Maths or sciences. Or sports. Occasionally calligraphy too, but that was really just because his hands always shook when he was nervous. But on the whole he was very bright, Sousuke knew that for a fact: he’d tutored him for months now, after all.

By the time Hayato had finished – breathing a deep sigh of relief, thanking Sousuke, and rushing off to play video games before dinner – it was already spitting with rain and Sousuke came to terms with the fact that he’d have to go and get the laundry in lest it get soaked. He had half a mind to leave it out to teach Kisumi to check the weather for once (which he _never did_ ) but he felt that’d be too unfair on Hayato, and either way it would just be a waste. Grumbling internally about how he was always stuck doing the chores in an apartment that wasn’t even his, he got the basket.

It wasn’t as if he really _resented_ it. Not exactly, at least. Ever since he’d helped Hayato when the boy had got lost in a shopping centre, they’d kept running into each other and it had been the easiest thing in the world to suggest one day that he could help tutor him if he was having trouble in school. Kisumi, always busy with work and hardly able to spend as much time with his little brother as he’d like, had been only too happy to agree and welcome Sousuke into their home. And invite him to stay for dinner sometimes. And to spend the night if they stayed up drinking together too late. And give him a key to the apartment barely two months after they’d met. And beg him by text (frequently) to look after Hayato that night because ‘I’m sooooo sorry but I’m not gonna get out of here until like midnight :’(((( Can’t wait to see yooooouuuu’. And basically make him part of the family.

It was a bit overwhelming sometimes, was all.

Predictably, Kisumi finally burst through the front door half an hour later than he’d said he would.

“What the hell kind of time do you call this?” Sousuke roared, arms crossed in the doorway as Kisumi toed off his shoes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Kisumi sung. “Were you two lonely, waiting for me?”

“Like hell we were,” Sousuke snorted but he still returned Kisumi’s infectious grin and didn’t complain when Kisumi let his hand linger just a little too long on the small of his back as he leaned in close for a welcome back kiss.

That was another thing that had happened easily: weeks of spending time together because of the tutoring and babysitting, weeks of surreptitious looks and touches, weeks of Sousuke trying to rationalise what it was like, actually being part of a home like this, and the two of them hadn’t so much fallen in together as shuffled closer until they couldn’t find a reason _not to_ be together anymore.

“How was Hayato today?” Kisumi murmured, their noses still just touching.

“Perplexed by the mysteries of algebra.”

“Oh, aren’t we all. Thanks for helping him,” he brushed their lips together once more.

“Yeah, yeah. Get in: dinner’s been ready for ages.”

“Yes, dear!”

“Yeah, never call me that again.”

Laughing, Kisumi went to go and find his little brother and Sousuke followed him to dish up, calling them through when he was done. Hayato was in a much better mood now his brother was with him and the fear of mathematics wasn’t shredding his nerves to tatters, but the thing about him was that he was never chatty, even at his happiest. You just had to look for the emotions painted guilelessly on his face. Like the smile he happened to be sporting that made him look even more like his brother than usual, as if the hair wasn’t a dead giveaway.

“So what had you so late today?” Sousuke asked when they’d sat down and Hayato was pouring out the drinks.

“Ahhh…” Kisumi groaned, putting on a pained expression. “You see, I had everything _just_ ready to go, I swear I did! I hate leaving this late too, you know…” he spared a rueful smile at his brother.

“And…?”

“Ugh, there were these proofs we were waiting to get back from this freelancer and she totally lost the ball on this one: we needed to send the magazine draft to the higher-ups today and she still hadn’t got the photos back to us? Seriously shoddy. Anyway, in the end we filled up the extra space with more photos from that one really spectacular shoot we did a while back – that post-apocalyptic one, remember? – and it was going great, or at least passable, and then she faxes an apology to us at five o’clock and says she’ll get the fully processed photos with all the text and stuff done to us by half five, right? So we wait because this woman’s incredible at her job and we knew it was going to be good. Long story short, we got them at half six and I had to pull overtime to check over everything because she hadn’t set the extra text we asked for in a separate email.”

“Sounds tough.” Privately, Sousuke thanked the heavens he was a physical therapist and not in the hellhole that was the fashion industry, if Kisumi’s stories were to be believed.

“It was!” Kisumi wailed, piling an unreasonable amount of curry into his mouth at one time and then having the gall to grimace at the heat. “Sousuke, why did I take this job…”

“Because you love it.” Sousuke didn’t really understand how, especially considering the harsh hours (there was always at least one day a week when Kisumi would have to hurry to make the last train, and he was rarely back before seven).

“Don’t be _logical_ around me, geez! It’s awful. Hayato, don’t end up like me!” he pointed at his brother who nodded earnestly (with a worried little pout because Sousuke knew he looked up to Kisumi more than was probably healthy).

“Hayato, it’s fine if you end up like him as long as you’re more responsible,” Sousuke said blandly.

“That’s rude! I’m very responsible!”

“ _Who_ never looks at the forecast so I have to take down the laundry – which isn’t even mine, by the way – and hang it up inside instead? _Who_ always forgets to do the washing up before crashing into bed so I have to clean it up? _Who_ never waters the plants except that one orchid you’re obsessed with and orchids don’t even need much watering? _Who_ won’t hoover the apartment unless actually forced to do it on pain of death?” Sousuke listed off the sins with the air of a detective reading evidence from a notebook and Kisumi progressively sunk lower into his chair, making a wonderful _eurghhhhh_ sound as he did so.

“So,” Sousuke wrapped it up, “Hayato, you’re welcome to become like your brother, but not like that.”

“As if you’re not irresponsible too!” Kisumi pouted back.

Sousuke cocked his head, raising an eyebrow challengingly. “I’m not.”

Quite out of left field, Hayato spoke up. “That’s not true! You never answer your phone out of work hours – because you’re off the clock and you can’t be bothered, you said!”

“Hayato, I feel very betrayed right now.”

They’d got better at this game of faux-irritation and sarcasm since they’d first met and Hayato knew better than to take the comment seriously, a shy but excited smile still gracing his face. Kisumi beamed at his little brother and took advantage of the lull in conversation to get up and go to the fridge. “Sou, you want a beer too?”

“Starting a little early, aren’t you?”

“It’s a Friday, lay off!” Kisumi complained good-naturedly.

“Then sure, I’ll join you.”

In Kisumi’s defence, the beer added to the meal and Sousuke couldn’t say he wasn’t in the mood for one, not after the stress he’d been through earlier in the day. That in itself was part of the reason he loved spending his evenings (and, frequently, nights) at the Shiginos’ apartment, even if it left his own flat lonely and bereft of company: he felt at home with them. There had never really been a sense of intrusion, he’d just been welcomed in with open arms and they’d never let him go. And he’d never wanted to be let go of either.

After dinner, despite his earlier griping, he did the washing up while Kisumi and Hayato watched a drama they were following together until Hayato fell asleep leaning against his brother’s shoulder. Kisumi didn’t even notice for a while, not until the episode finished, but then he gently shook the boy to a daze of semi-consciousness and steered him to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

With Hayato asleep, curled up with the stuffed toys he still wouldn’t admit he needed to sleep peacefully, Sousuke joined Kisumi on the sofa, the lights dimmed down and their drinks resting on coasters on the coffee table.

“How’s he really doing?” Kisumi asked, curling his legs up to his chest.

“Better, I think. The other day he was telling me about a conversation he had with his friends, so I think he’s finding it easier to open up.”

“Good…”

“It’s hard to believe you’re related, really.”

“He _is_ a hundred times cuter than even I am, sad but true,” Kisumi nodded.

“That might be because he’s not always talking, of course.”

Kisumi flicked him lightly on the arm. “I wouldn’t bet on it. When he gets over his shyness he’ll be even cuter, I just know it.”

“The brother complex is strong in this one.”

“What, me or him?”

“Both.” Sousuke took a sip from his glass, swirling the ice cubes round absent-mindedly as he put an arm around Kisumi’s shoulders and the other man leaned into his chest.

“You’re so horrible, really,” Kisumi said without any actual hurt in his voice.

It was at times like these – private times when their bickering became light yet intimate, crossing the line they’d drawn up together by hinting at things they wouldn’t talk about – that Sousuke found himself wanting to break the line altogether. Perhaps this was his irresponsibility, then. A weakness steeped in temptation he shouldn’t fall for, _wouldn’t_ have fallen for when he was younger and hadn’t known what it was like to love without the dead certainty that the one you loved was always looking at someone else.

But now the hard exterior was cracked, he couldn’t stop himself. “I wonder sometimes how he’d take it.”

“Be a bit more specific, would you?” Kisumi drawled. “It’s late.”

“About _us_ , idiot.”

“Oh.” Kisumi picked up Sousuke’s free hand and started playing with it, bending his fingers gently as if it was the height of entertainment. “Probably well, I’d have thought. He loves me and worships you. Were you thinking of coming out to him?”

Sousuke hadn’t really been thinking that: it wasn’t as if they were deliberately keeping their relationship a secret from Hayato, but they certainly weren’t doing anything overtly romantic in front of him either. Or in front of anyone, really. “No.”

“Oh, okay.” Kisumi might have sounded disappointed but his voice was too muffled in Sousuke’s shirt to tell. “No point worrying about it, then.”

They went silent, listening to the distant sounds of late night Tokyo traffic outside. Kisumi put their hands together, as if comparing how their fingers measured up. Sousuke noticed how his hair looked so much redder in the low light; it almost looked real, even though he knew first-hand that Kisumi’s hair colour was natural.

“It’s a pity, though, you know?” Kisumi said quietly.

“Yeah.”

They hadn’t discussed the secrecy of their relationship much: it was something they preferred to pretend didn’t exist, as if this was a game they were playing and if they got found out they’d lose. It wasn’t that simple, though, because if anything it was the other way round. In the end, the whole thing they had together felt like a game of house: Hayato the child, them the loving parents, greeting each other back from work, sharing sob stories over dinner, scheduling in time to take Hayato out, falling into the same bed, exhausted…it was all a fairy tale they weren’t allowed but couldn’t stop themselves from acting out.

“I think…” Kisumi said, trailing off for a moment as if tasting the words in his mouth and wondering if they were right. “I think…if the situation were different, I’d be thinking of asking you to marry me some time about now.” His voice quavered.

Sousuke took that in. “If it helps, I’d say yes.”

Kisumi choked. “That doesn’t _help_ …” he whimpered, hiding his face fully in Sousuke’s shirt until Sousuke could feel his tears.

He wasn’t shuddering or sobbing or making any more noise than some snuffling: loud, obvious crying wasn’t Kisumi’s style, but that didn’t make it any easier for Sousuke to stand. Barely thinking about it, he scooped the man into his arms princess-style and stood up.

“Whoa!” Kisumi threw his arms around Sousuke’s neck for support, eyes still red but he didn’t seem to be actively trying not to cry anymore and Sousuke let out a sigh of relief. Doing a brilliant job – if he said so himself – of pretending it was easy, he carried Kisumi over to the bedroom.

“N-not that I’m complaining,” Kisumi said in a wavering voice despite his efforts to sound normal, “but what are you doing?”

“I’m carrying you over the threshold, of course,” Sousuke replied matter-of-factly.

For a second or two Kisumi looked up at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving, and then his slightly parted lips spread into a smile and he laughed, tightening his hold on Sousuke’s neck for support as he was put down gently on the bed before spreading out properly. He laughed hysterically and without control but Sousuke didn’t mind. He reckoned it was better than holding back tears, so he sat next to Kisumi and stroked his hair, smiling fondly at him until Kisumi had calmed down.

Nothing less than pure adoration shone in the man’s eyes as he looked at Sousuke and reached up to touch his face idly.

“How do you always know what to do?” he asked dreamily.

“I’ll let you in on a secret: I don’t.”

“Liar,” Kisumi giggled.

“It’s the truth,” he retorted mildly before leaning down to kiss Kisumi, his fingers tracing along the man’s hipline. Humming a sound of approval into Sousuke’s mouth, Kisumi curled onto his side and supported himself on one arm to make their positions easier. Eventually, through an impressive sequence of movements, he managed to sit in Sousuke’s lap without once breaking their kiss, moaning happily when Sousuke’s hands moved to feel his ass, thumbs rubbing circles over Kisumi’s hips.

Kisumi moved his attentions along Sousuke’s jaw, tugging on the lobe of his ear with his teeth gently, always gently, and Sousuke lifted him closer.

Amongst their breaths and Kisumi’s soft sounds of satisfaction, Sousuke managed to whisper, “I want to be a part of your family.”

Kisumi pulled away from him, smiling warmly with only the barest touch of sadness to his expression. “You already are.”


End file.
